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.Interest lighted the Saint's eyes again as he saw her, awakened instantly ashe appreciated the subtle perfection of the sculptured cascade of her brownhair, crystallized as he approved the contours of her slim yet mature figurerevealed by a simple flowered cotton dress.Then he saw her face for the firsttime, and held his tankard a shade tighter.Here, indeed, was something tocall beautiful, something on which the word could be used without hesitationeven under his most dispassionate scrutiny.She was like "Peaches in autumn,"he said to himself, seeing the fresh bloom of her cheeks against the russetshades of her hair.She raised her head with a smile, and his blood sangcarillons.Perhaps after all.And then he saw that she was smiling and speaking to an ordinarilygood-looking young man in a striped blazer who stood possessively over her;and inward laughter overtook him before he could feel the sourness ofdisappointment.He loosened one elbow from the bar to run a hand through his dark hair, andhis eyes twinkled at Mr Uniatz."Oh, well, Hoppy," he said."It looks as if we can still be taken for a ride,even at our age."Mr Uniatz blinked at him.Even in isolation, the face that Nature had plantedon top of Mr Uniatz's bull neck could never have been mistaken for that of amatinee idol with an inclination towards intellectual pursuits and thecultivation of the soul; but when viewed in exaggerating contrast with thetanned piratical chiselling of the Saint's features it had a grotesquenessthat was sometimes completely shattering to those who beheld it for the firsttime.To compare it with the face of a gorilla which had been in violentcontact with a variety of blunt instruments during its formative years wouldbe risking the justifiable resentment of any gorilla which had been in violentcontact with a variety of blunt instruments during its formative years.Thebest that can be said of it is that it contained in mauled and primitive formall the usual organs of sight, smell, hearing, and ingestion, and prayerfullylet it go at that.And yet it must also be said that Simon Templar had come toregard it with a fondness which even its mother could scarcely have shared.Hewatched it with good-humoured patience, waiting for it to answer,"I dunno, boss," said Mr Uniatz.He had not thought over the point very deeply.Simon knew this, because whenMr Uniatz was thinking his face screwed itself into even more frightfulcontortions than were stamped on it in repose.Thinking of any kind was anactivity which caused Mr Uniatz excruciating pain.On this occasion he hadclearly escaped much suffering because his mind if such a word can be usedwithout blasphemy in connection with any of Mr Uniatz's cerebral processes hadbeen else-where."Something is bothering you, Hoppy," said the Saint."Don't keep it toyourself, or your head will start aching.""Boss," said Mr Uniatz gratefully, "do I have to drink dis wit' de paper on ?"He held up the parcel he was nursing.Page 38ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlSimon looked at him blankly for a moment, and then felt weak in the middle."Of course not," he said."They only wrapped it up be-cause they thought wewere going to take it home.They haven't got to know you yet, that's all."An expression of sublime relief spread over Mr Uniatz's homely countenance ashe pawed off the wrapping paper from the bottle of Vat 69.He pulled out thecork, placed the neck of the bottle in his mouth, and tilted his head back.The soothing fluid flowed in a cooling stream down his asbestos gullet.Allhis anxieties were at rest.For the Saint, Consolation was not quite so easy.He finished his tankard andpushed it across the bar for a refill.While he was waiting for it to comeback, he pulled out of his pocket and read over again the note that hadbrought him there.It was on a plain sheet of good notepaper, with no address.Dear Saint,I'm not going to write a long letter, because if you aren't going to believeme it won't make any difference how many pages I write.I'm only writing to you at all because I'm utterly desperate.How can I put it in the baldest possible way ? I'm being forced into makingmyself an accomplice in one of the most gigantic frauds that can ever havebeen attempted, and I can't go to the police for the same reason that I'mbeing forced to help.There you are.It's no use writing any more.If you can be at the Bell atHurley at eight o'clock on Sunday evening I'll see you and tell youeverything.If I can only talk to you for half an hour, I know I can make youbelieve me.Please, for God's sake, at least let me talk to you.My name isNORA PRESCOTTNothing there to encourage too many hopes in the imagi-nation of any one whosemail was as regularly cluttered with crank letters as the Saint's; and yet thehandwriting looked neat and sensible, and the brief blunt phrasing had somehowcarried more conviction than a ream of protestations [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]